


Cipher

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Communication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:05:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's was the first time in days that they’d had a conversation that didn’t involve insults, shouting or barely restrained rage</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cipher

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt "Fingertips."

  
Title: Cipher  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Dean/Castiel-ish  
Word Count: ~500  
Warnings: Spoilers for S5  
Author's notes: for the prompt "Fingertips." Let the fest of fluffy(ish) fanfic begin.

  
Cipher

What they don't tell you about the Apocalypse is that there's a ton of lore on the subject. Dean was pretty sure it was an actual, fucking _Imperial_ ton. Everybody had their own flavour, their own style, and Sam thought it was hubris (he'd actually said the word _hubris_ – who even used that word in conversation?) to limit themselves to any one interpretation of the impending doom of mankind.

Which was fine when Sam was the one up to his eyeballs in Gnostic texts, but instead, he was in town helping Bobby with a supply run and Dean was going abso-fucking-lutely cross-eyed sitting at Bobby's desk, while Cas poured over a text in Aramaic at the kitchen table – and fuck the apocalypse anyway – Dean was positive he was going to die of boredom long before Michael dropped out of heaven into his meatsuit at this rate.

Irritably, Dean scrubbed at his face with one hand and tapped at the desk with the other, alternating between the tap of one finger and the rap of his knuckles – _tap rap tap rap_ – just to keep his brain from shutting off completely. He’d proven on more than one occasion that he could actually fall asleep standing up; falling asleep over a book of lore was not that far of a stretch.

He was so busy trying to focus that it took him a while to realize he had an echo.

At first, he thought it was a fluke – so he switched up the pattern – _tap rap rap tap_ – but no, Cas was definitely copying him, even curled up so close to his dusty old book that he was going to come away with an ink smudge on his nose or something.

Who knew angels could get bored?

Just for kicks, Dean tapped out _S.O.S._ on the desktop and watched Cas do his _working shit out_ head tilt, grinning to himself. And here he'd always figured morose code was good for shit.

 _Bored_ he tapped out, keeping his head down like he might actually be reading, but carefully keeping his eyes turned up towards Cas, watching to see if he'd have a parrot again, or if Cas would actually respond.

 _Very dull_ Cas tapped back, finally.

Dean forced back a smirk; Cas really did know every language in the universe. _Gonna kill Sam_ , he tapped out.

 _That would not solve the problem._

Dean snorted, _point_.

He watched Cas tip his head, just enough to catch Dean in of the corner of his eye, and they sat there for maybe a minute just watching each other pretend not to watch each other. It occurred to Dean that this was maybe the first time in days that they’d had a conversation that didn’t involve insults, shouting or barely restrained rage.

And they hadn’t spoken a goddamn word.

“Cas?” He breathed out without moving, fingertip still poised above the desk.

“Yes Dean?” The answer sounded far away, and distinctly foreign.

Cas didn’t move either, and they balanced like that, breathing through the silence until Dean tapped out, _nothing_ .

-End-


End file.
